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“Oh yes, you are.” I look to my left and find a nervous store clerk spying on us from behind the counter. “Hunt down the most expensive princess costume you have in her size and bring it to the dressing room, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
I bend my knees, bracing myself against Jane’s waist and throw her up over my shoulder, carrying her like a caveman to the dressing room at the rear of the shop.
“You aren’t going to win this battle, Byron,” she says, struggling to get down.
“Watch me.”
Her frustrated laugh releases in a burst. “When did you get so arrogant?”
“When the most incredible girl in the universe became my girlfriend,” I respond without hesitation.
She stops fighting me. Just goes limp.
We reach the dressing room and I gently lift her off my shoulder, sliding the front of her body down mine, catching her a few inches off the floor when our mouths are level. “Are you going to make me strip you down? Or are you going to cooperate?”
“Let’s forget about the costumes for now.” She bites her lip and rubs side to side against my erection. “Take me home, baby,” she whispers. “I miss your tongue on me. In me.”
With a groan, I cup her taut backside through the leather of her skirt, massaging roughly. “Don’t do that. Don’t exploit my weakness.”
“Just returning the favor,” she singsongs, leaning in close, whining a little against my mouth. “You’ve gotten so good at eating me out. You made me come so hard last night with your tongue, I couldn’t breathe.” I don’t realize there are slits in the sides of her leather skirt until she wraps her thighs around me, riding up and down on the bulge in my pants. “Take me home and do it again.”
Oh God.
If there was one thing that could make me cave and sidestep this complicated moment we’re having, it’s the offer to go down on Jane. There is nothing like it in the world. She’s so wet and tiny and bare down there. The way she cries out when I sink two fingers in deep and bat her clit with the tip of my tongue? It’s better than any song. Any chorus of angels. And it makes my cock so stiff that I basically attack her afterward. Insane with lust, I call her whatever she wants. Last night, I even spit on her. Right between her legs. I hate how rigid it makes my cock to think about it. How slippery it made her. How horny she got. Gasping and clutching and straining. Calling me her lord and savior while I fucked her in a fury on the hallway floor.
But this is important.
She’s scared of something. Something from the past is haunting her.
And it’s going to come between us unless I fight for ground.
“There’s a time for this, Jane,” I say hoarsely, urging her to stand even though it causes me physical pain to bring any kind of intimacy with her to a halt. “But right now, you’re trying on a princess costume.” Before she can speak, I press a finger to her lips. “And just so you know, this has nothing to do with you dressing provocatively on a regular basis. I’m a jealous man, but I don’t want to change you. I just want you to feel the way I see you. Okay? Will you try that for me?”
Her chin quivers. “Fine.”
Hating the sight of her upset, I reach for her, but she spins out of my reach—just as the clerk returns with a plastic garment bag. The clerk splits an apprehensive glance between us and hangs up the costume just inside the door. “This is our most expensive princess costume. It was actually worn by an extra in Knight in Shining Armor. Remember that movie? Anyway, if you don’t like it or you need any help, let me know.”
“Thank you,” I say, waiting for the clerk to leave before tugging down the zipper of the garment bag. “Would you mind taking your clothes off, Jane?”
“Fine,” she answers stiffly, unbuttoning her blouse. She’s the picture of annoyance. Unless someone knows how to read her more closely. Which I do. And I can see she’s feeling vulnerable, too. It’s right there in her shallowing breathing, the tremor in her fingers. But because she’s Jane and she’s beautifully complicated, she overcompensates with a strip tease. A torturous one. She hangs up her blouse and turns, giving me her back, making me pant as she slowly, slowly, lowers the back zipper of her leather skirt to reveal two high buns, black material running down the center.
The skirt drops.
Now she’s in nothing but a thong, a strapless bra and high heels.
She turns, tucks a finger into the front of her panties and drags them down, giving me a peek at her wet slit, making me groan. Making me want to drop to my knees and feast. My cock and balls seem to weigh a thousand pounds each, my zipper stretching mightily to accommodate my thrumming arousal. Not now. Don’t give in now.
